


Not while I’m around

by tibrstar



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Angst, Art Trade, Demon Deals, Existential Crisis, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-31 16:40:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19429960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tibrstar/pseuds/tibrstar
Summary: Chef is concerned that they’re going to hell, Medic strikes a bargain.





	Not while I’m around

It wasn’t often that they found themself with an empty kitchen. If it wasn’t one of the mercs it was several, but right now it was quiet. Too quiet, Soldier wasn’t screaming ridiculous patriotic diatribe, they couldn’t hear Scout’s mouth going a million miles a second. Staring down at the pot on the stove, Chef watched the water until it began to boil. It took forever, but it was something. 

A smile curled Chef’s lips, it smelled great, but they’d been fooled before. They were not always the best cook, despite it being their main job. Dipping a spoon into the soup, they blew on the bite before gingerly sticking it into their mouth. Oh! Oh good, it tasted great, using a larger spoon to give it a few more stirs before turning off the heat and covering it. There was dinner covered, butajiru wasn’t a delicacy by any means but it was filling and warm. 

Turning their attention to the fridge, they let out a huff of air that blew their cheeks out before pulling it open. The soup had been inspired, but they hadn’t even begun to think about dessert until about halfway through. Something light? Maybe a cobbler? It was a clash of diversity, but it was easy and quick. Errant strands of hair tucked back behind their ears, Chef half ran for the pantry. 

Any canned fruit would work, and there should be some kind of cake mix? Even pancake mix could do in a pinch if they could only just find it…

“What are you doing, fraülein?’

Balanced with one foot on a shelf, straining to reach a box on the highest shelf, Chef fell when they jumped in surprise. Landing with a soft oof, their arms instinctively wrapped around the shoulders of the one who’d caught them. Medic, of course, he always seemed to be around when you least expected it. Cheeks flushing, Chef removed their arms but he didn’t put them down, still staring down at them curiously. 

“I…’ They waved a hand at the upper shelf, words failing them momentarily. “I was trying to get the mix off the top shelf.’

“Ah!’ All but dropping them onto their feet, Medic reached for the mix himself, barely having to go on his toes. “There we are! Mix. …. for what?’

“Dessert.’

Not bothering to look at the box, Chef grabbed a can that had a picture of peaches on it and dipped around Medic to head back to the kitchen. Their cheeks still felt warm, but they were going to blame being startled, that’s all it was. Dumping their armful of ingredients, they began pulling down sugar and cinnamon, ground clove and vanilla. They didn’t even realize that Medic had followed them until Chef turned around again and he was there, almost sending the spices spilling to the floor. 

“What kind of dessert?’ He asked, as if he hadn’t noticed their momentary discomfort. They doubted that. Medic noticed a lot more than others gave him credit for. 

“Just a cake dump kind of thing.’ They answered, digging through drawers to find spoons. “Peach cobbler.’

“Ooh! That sounds good.’ Out of the corner of their eye they watched him move towards the stove.

“Don’t you dare!’ They snapped, his hand hovering over the lid, sending them a wounded expression. “Sit. Dinner’s done I just need to get dessert started. But I don’t want you doing… your thing.’

“My thing…’

“Yes, that thing you do.’

When he didn’t answer them, they risked another glance and saw that he was trying not to smile. But he was also still near the stove, dumping a fair amount of the mix into a bowl before going to shoo him away themself. Another quick peek into the pot to reassure themself that he hadn’t managed to actually add anything. As delicious as it smelled, it kind of reminded them of what had come flying out of Scout’s mouth during the last mission.

There’d been a lot of death, and a lot of damage… they tried not to think of the word casualties, or innocents, but sometimes they could swear they heard crying when they were alone in the kitchen. With no one else to help preoccupy their mind, they heard a lot of things…

“I didn’t add anything.’ Medic said quietly after watching them stare down into the pot for a few moments. 

“I know!’ Lid falling with a clang, they moved back to the table and began mixing everything one step at a time. 

“You did not look as if you were thinking of soup, mäuschen.’ He probed, standing next to them as he picked up one of the spices, twisting off the top and sniffing. 

“It’s nothing, really. I’m fine.’ Plucking the spice from his hand, Chef eyed the label and then measured out what they needed. Setting it down to grab the next. 

“You can tell me, I won’t laugh.’

Their hand shook, cinnamon spilling into the bowl missing the spoon entirely and leaving a rich brown mound in the bowl. He might actually, if he knew what they were thinking. Worried about actually. 

“Medic… Do you ever…’ they paused, hand moving to set the cinnamon down next to the bowl. “Do you ever think that we’re going to hell because of what we do?’

“No.’ 

They didn’t realize that he didn’t  _ think _ about it because he  **knew** that he was. Shifty contract or not, nine souls to barter or not, he knew that hell was the end of the line. He couldn’t change who he was, and saw no reason to. 

“Oh, okay well I just-’ they shrugged helplessly, picking up a fork to stir with. There was a whisk or something somewhere, but they didn’t have that level of dedication right then with guilt rearing its ugly head. 

“You just what?’

“I don’t want to go to hell!’ 

The words were blurted out, their wrist aching as they stirred harder trying to ignore the hot prickle of tears. Refused to acknowledge that tears were falling into the bowl, before finally letting out a sob that had been building in their chest. 

“I know we do bad things, but it’s for a greater good right?’ Wiping at their cheeks with the back of their wrist, they let the fork fall into the bowl. “I mean we do  _ really _ bad things, but we might be forgivable because we had good intentions, right?’

“Ah… yes! Yes, of course!’ 

Medic looked around the counter top, snatching a clean looking rag to hold out to Chef. But they didn’t seem to notice, sniffling and wiping at their eyes trying to get the tears to stop. Their face was red from trying to suppress sobs that forced their way out regardless. Running the cloth over their cheeks, Medic swiped a few times at their nose before they took it from him and turned to blow their nose. 

“You are  _ not _ going to hell.’ He said firmly, his hand resting on their shoulder, staring at the back of their head. But this only made them cry harder. 

Curses running through his brain, he tugged at their shoulder to turn them and held them close. He was surprised when they clung to him, their fingers gripping the fabric as his back as they pressed as close as they could to him. He felt like the only solid thing in the world, their face pressed into his chest. 

He didn’t try to talk again until their sobs began to peter off before slowly coming to a stop. They didn't want to lift their head, Chef knew without a doubt they looked an absolute mess. But Medic ignored the way they tried to stay pressed close, the hands that he’d put against their back moving to their upper arms and forcing them away so he could make eye contact. 

“You listen to me, mäuschen. You are not going to hell. I will not allow it to happen.’ He stared at them until a flicker of a smile ghosted over their lips and felt his heart clench in his chest. “Not ever, nothing bad is going to happen to you. I will- I mean, the team will always look after you.’

Fighting the flush that threatened to rise in his cheeks, Medic panicked and pulled them close to press a kiss to their forehead surprising them both. Chef stood still, trying to process what had happened. He cared that much for them? And did he just kiss their forehead? Smiling they gave him a soft shove, wiping at their face with the driest part of the cloth.

“You’re just going to take care of that, huh?’

“Yes…. yes I am.’ He sounded slightly confused at first, before his voice became rich with conviction. Thumb brushing away a tear that was running down their cheek, Medic smiled. “I will take care of it right now.’

“What? How?’

“You make your dessert mäuschen!’ Waving away their questions, Medic moved around them and towards the door calling back over his shoulder. “And call me for dinner!’ 

Blinking, Chef stared at the spot Medic had been just a moment before. How could he- What possible- Head shaking, they turned towards the bowl and gingerly fished the fork out to finish making dessert. There was nothing he  _ could _ do, but they did feel better knowing that he thought that it was probable. Fingers lifting to brush over the spot he’d kissed, they felt their cheeks flushed, their fingertips moving to their lips before dropping the hand to hold the bowl as they stirred. 

——— a very nice office in hell )

“It’s nice to see you, again.’ The demon growled, the loathing in its tone at odds with his words. 

“Yes, danke. Have you redecorated? I don’t remember the screaming soul caught in paint last I was here.’

“What do you want?!’

“I am here to barter a soul, for a favor.’ The grin that had been threatening to rip his cheeks faded away. “There is a name on your reservation list, and I want it removed.’

The demon stared at Medic thunderstruck, before slamming its large hands on its desk and laughing. Scowling, Medic waited impatiently for it to stop, arms crossing after five minutes of the braying sound filled the room.

“You… you want to barter another of your souls,’ it paused to chuckle, wiping a tear from its cheek that sizzled away even as it made the attempt. “One of your souls, for someone else’s?’

“Ja. That is what I said.’ The words were growled out from grit teeth. In spite of the heat, he could still feel Chef’s tears that had soaked through his vest to the shirt beneath. “One soul, for one name.’

The demon’s expression slowly sobered, blinking as it realized that Medic was offering it a serious proposition. Claws hand reaching out for a book, it couldn’t look away from him. 

“Name?’

“Chef.’ He replied immediately, leaning closer to the desk to look in the book as well. But it was in a language he didn’t know.

“.... if you want to have their name removed from the ledger, I need the actual name not their title.’

“Midori.’ 

When the demon sent him an irritated scowl, Medic searched his memory for a moment before offering the last name as well. The claw slowly moved over a few pages, before tapping over a name that Medic couldn’t read. 

“Ah yes, Chef. They have a few years yet, but-’ The demon trailed off, pulling open a drawer and placing a contract half filled out on the table. 

“Ja, ja, one soul in exchange for-’

“I want three.’

“What?! That was not the arrangement!’ And it would give the demon five out of nine souls. Unacceptable. “I offered one. And you will get only one.’

“This is important to you.’ The demon smiled, fingertips pressing together as it rested its chin on its thumbs. “You bought a fountain pen for one soul, surely this Chef is worth three?’

He didn’t want to answer that, teeth grinding as he glared at the demon. It would be worth selling the rest of his souls for the assurance that they would find peace. But that wasn’t the point. 

“Two, you can have two souls for Midori’s name to be taken off the list.’

“I won’t take any less than three.’

“Very well!’ Medic snapped, taking the pen and filling out the required blank areas. 

The pen hovered just shy of signing his name, a drop of ink falling onto the page before scrawling his signature and adding MD at the end. When he handed it over, the demon read each bit before snorting and pulling out another. 

“You had your license pulled, you’re not a doctor anymore. Do it again.’

This time, he filled it out perfectly, the sound of the nub scratching against the paper loud in the room. Filing the contract with the other one, the demon erased the name he’d pointed to in the book, the text rising into the air like smoke.

“Done.’

“A pleasure doing business.’ Medic quipped, though he felt his stomach sinking. A sharp contrast to the weight he felt lifted from his chest. 

“Now get out before I decide to collect early.’

Once Medic was gone, the demon ran a fingertip over the empty space in the book. It’s lips quivered before their mouth opened wide to laugh again. 

“Idiot! The damned Chef wasn’t even in the ledger!’ An imp in the doorway tittered before scampering away when the demon threw a paperweight at it. 

————— back at the base an hour later as humans understand it )

Medic grabbed a piece of bread to soak up the last of the broth, checking it for mold, or teeth, or viscous slime meant to digest flesh. Finding none, he swiped the chunk of bread around the inside of the bowl and popped it into his mouth with a happy little noise.

He and the rest of the team offered their thanks and gratitude for so tasty a meal. Chef beamed back, taking a little bow before they looked slightly nervous. 

“I’ll just… go get dessert.’

When they came back, the tray landing on the table with a hard thump, each of the team members leaned forward in anticipation. And were slightly confused when the lid was lifted. The top was a dark brown, blackened at the edges. 

“WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!’ Shouted Soldier, tipping back his helmet to get a better look at the dish. 

“Um… it was supposed to be peach cobbler.’ They whispered, fingers wringing the towels they’d used to carry the still warm dish to the table. “But I uh, I accidentally grabbed cornbread mix, instead of cake, and it wasn’t cooking all the way through. So I had to keep putting it back in and… I’m sure it still tastes good?’

No one dipped a spoon into the dish, staring at it with distrust. Medic’s spoon tapped against the table, gaze lifting to Chef’s face, and seeing a sheen in their eyes. Oh, scheisse! Scooping out a large bite, he shoved it into his mouth and began to chew.

Every eye in the room was on him, his jaw working, but he held Chef’s gaze. Swallowing, he cleared his throat and reached for his water glass, taking a quick drink before smiling. 

“It’s very good, mäuschen.’ He lied, even as his stomach roiled.

That was good enough for the rest of him, the fact he was still alive. It helped that most of them were drunk or well on their way to it. Heavy was the only one to pause mid chew to look back to Medic with a flicker of confusion in his eyes before shaking his head. Medic didn’t quite catch what he said, but he was too focused on keeping the dessert down, smiling at Chef when they sat next to him. 

“This is disgusting.’ They whispered, their spoon stirring the mess in the bowl.

“.... yes, yes it is.’

“Why’d you say it was good?’

“Because I like your smile, Chef. And I think you cried enough for one day.’

The conversation cut off abruptly, Chef’s cheeks flushing as they took a bite of the dessert and shuddered. It really had not turned out well at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Does Chef roast a demon? Does Medic figure out a way to squirm out his deal? Stay tuned! Next issue of Tiberius writes Team Fortress 2. 
> 
> Chef is my friend cherubsoda’s self insert for Team Fortress 2, and part of an art trade.


End file.
